


Domina in Umbris

by Minoukatze



Category: Vermintide, Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2019-11-04 19:33:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17904233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minoukatze/pseuds/Minoukatze
Summary: A painfully shy artist records the deeds of the Ubersreik Five at a comfortable distance, content to stay an unseen and unknown satellite in their periphery. When an attack forces her to reveal herself, everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

She had to be at least a league away, but the stench still carried. Even this far, the war camp loomed ominous in the distance. Catrinne winced, frowned, and scanned her surroundings for the tenth time in so many minutes. She knew that the Rotbloods were currently occupied, but even one stray peon could spell her end. Not that Catrinne was too concerned. She generally had visions of genuine disaster beforehand, and none had come to her recently. Morr had not called to her yet, and she trusted that He would give her ample warning. As it was, she still served a purpose, as seemingly unimportant as it was, as seemingly unimportant as _she_ was. The knowledge served as a bit of a comfort, but considering the scenes of wreckage and ruin about her, it was impossible to dispel her qualms completely. She wasn’t made of stone.

Catrinne set up her makeshift easel, slipped the pack from her back, unstrapped the canvas from it, and arranged her various paints and media. The light was good at the moment, and she needed to work at speed. It had become second nature at this point. Lohner had said the five would have the area cleared and the enemies distracted for some time, but Catrinne knew that it would not last. She picked up her charcoal, and her hand flew over the canvas, loosely sketching the scene. A twig snapped a few yards away, and Catrinne jumped, pulling her dagger from her belt and whirling around. Ineffectual, but at least she might do some damage before a Rotblood caved her head in (or worse). Catrinne cursed inwardly, still mentally weakened from the spell which had brought her to this place. She breathed a sigh of relief when instead Catrinne faced a deer, which bolted at the sight of her. Catrinne smiled, relaxing slightly. Wildlife was a good sign. Perhaps things weren’t as dire as her dreams implied.

She set to work, wet on wet, no time to wait for underpainting. _Alla prima_ , as the Tileans called it, and Catrinne once again thanked them for the method. Shafts of sunlight broke through a dramatic grey dome of clouds, and while the landscape was not what one could call pretty, it was certainly striking. _Far more interesting than pretty_ , Catrinne mused, _war camp notwithstanding_. Catrinne would have loved to lose herself in it the way she had when times were less dire, when her subjects were castles and bored courtiers, but it was far too dangerous at that moment. After a while, she allowed herself a bit more concentration when she felt herself recover from her spell, knowing that she had then more protection than a feeble dagger if an enemy should strike. The winds shifted, carrying the malodor of the camp away from her, and Catrinne relaxed further, reveling in the play of shade and sun upon the grasses of the valley. After a time she paused and stepped back to study the painting. She supposed it could be considered finished, but there were a few tones that could be tweaked, a few trees that seemed off…

“You need to pay better attention.”

Catrinne jumped, spinning to find Olesya leaning against the tree behind her, amused. Catrinne nodded sheepishly, her heart racing.

“You’re right, Mistress,” Catrinne replied, trying to keep her voice steady. “But I wish you wouldn’t startle me, I could have ruined this painting.”

“Is why I waited until you stepped away. I’ve been here for quite some time,” Olesya replied. “Is good enough for Lohner. Time to pack up.”

“I…” Catrinne stopped, knowing that argument was futile, and that Olesya was right, anyway. It was foolish to linger in such a place. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Are you ready for another casting?” Olesya asked as Catrinne collapsed her easel.

“I think so,” Catrinne replied, swiftly stowing her implements and gingerly attaching the canvas to her pack.

Olesya nodded, and Catrinne bowed her head, concentrating with everything she had and muttering the stubbornly-memorized incantations. As she chanted, the shadows for the tree stretched, rose, knit themselves into the rough approximation of a horse.

“Slow. Clumsy.” Olesya observed.

Catrinne nodded, studying her scuffed shoes. Olesya seemed determined to refine Catrinne’s few Grey abilities, and while Catrinne understood, she resented it nonetheless. Catrinne was utterly useless at magic, persevering only because her meager gifts forced her to be registered and only until she received her certification and could legally leave. She’d headed straight for the academy for the arts with nary a backward glance. These days, though, her job required magic, and sometimes Catrinne wondered if it were worth the trouble.

“Watch.” In a matter of seconds, with a flutter of fingers and quick spitting of verse, the older wizard effortlessly conjured a steed so solid-seeming and refined that Catrinne could make out its eyelashes.

Catrinne marveled at it, passing her fingers over the wispy skin. She was sure that Olesya could stand shoulder to shoulder with any of the archmages in the Grey Order.

“Head out of the clouds, girl, and come on!” Olesya barked, mounting her steed. “The sooner we leave this place the better. The skaven will soon be fleeing that camp like, well, rats from a sinking ship.”

“Right.” Catrinne mounted her own nebulous horse with some difficulty, feeling it sag a little under her weight. “Right.”

They rode back toward Axe Bite Pass, back toward the Keep looming overhead.


	2. Chapter 2

“Get anything good out there?” Lohner was waiting at the entrance.

Catrinne nodded, removing her pack and gently unstrapping the canvas and its domed cover. “Careful, it’s still wet.”

Lohner examined it with an approving eye. “This is fine work, Catrinne. Run into any trouble while you were out?”

Catrinne shook her head. “No, thank Sigmar. All was fairly clear.”

“She needs to pay better attention,” Olesya added. “Chaos Warrior could have clanked up behind her, and girl would have been none the wiser.”

 _It wasn’t quite_ that _bad_. Catrinne knew that she had no decent argument, though, and she’d _had_ let her guard down. More than once she’d seen one of the Keep’s heroes carried back by their brethren, bearing frightening wounds thanks to a moment of distraction.

“Good artists are hard to come by, especially ones willing to work in the field,” Lohner lectured. “It took me six months to find you, and I don’t particularly care to have to look again. Be more careful, girl!”

Catrinne bowed her head. “Yes, Sir.”

A scent of mutton stew wafted from the kitchens below, and Catrinne’s mouth watered. Markus must have been the one to stay behind this time. In Catrinne’s head, Sergeant Kruber was Markus, as his genial nature leant familiarity. Not that she would ever have the courage to approach him, let alone address him as such. One of his many virtues was that he enjoyed cooking and would often tinker in the kitchen. Sometimes Catrinne would linger nearby as he and Lohner cooked, Markus sharing stories of his childhood on the family farm and helping his mother and sisters as they prepared dinner. The meal was guaranteed to be significantly better than otherwise when Markus was involved. Lohner claimed to be an innkeeper, but his set of skills clearly lay far from the culinary realm.

“So tomorrow, we…” Lohner began, but was interrupted by the Bridge flaring to life.

Catrinne jumped and reflexively blinked into invisibility. That was it for her.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Lohner grumbled. “Where did that girl go? What is wrong with her?”

Olesya shrugged. “Artists are eccentric. You know this. She’ll be back.”

The pair began making their way toward the Bridge room, Lohner fussing all the while.

“They think we have a ghost, you know that, right?” Lohner groused, his voice receding as they walked. “I keep trying to tell them that we have a resident painter, but they think I’m mad.”

Catrinne scampered up the stairs to the highest level and peered down from behind a doorway. Such were the acoustics in the Keep that it was easy to hear any conversation below, not that Captain Saltzpyre needed it.

“IT WAS AN UNMITIGATED SUCCESS.” His voice rang upon the stone walls, carried as if he spoke next to Catrinne where she hid. “ONE PILLAR OF OUR ENEMY’S SUPPORTS CRUMBLED TO NOTHING.”

Catrinne smiled. She had tried to stay detached from the five, having been devastated by the deaths of a squadron she’d been documenting a year back. However, she had failed again, and every time the group returned she wanted to weep with relief. They retired, chattering among themselves, into the dining room. Catrinne risked descending the stairs and moving closer to better eavesdrop, and she heard Markus’ voice join in. They discussed what sounded like a horrific scene: meat tents, mountains of gore and viscera, a fighting arena. She harkened as they bantered across the table; Saltzpyre’s sharp, musical cadence rising and countered by Bardin’s husky, full-bodied tone; Kerillian snarking in her elegant brogue and Sienna’s careless, smoky rasp. Catrinne took mental notes of their macabre descriptions. Perhaps a painting could come out of them. They bickered and taunted one another with good-natured jabs, and Catrinne grinned to herself in the shadows at the sound of it, basking in their camaraderie. When she closed her eyes, it was almost like she was in the room with them, one of them.

“Did you see the new painting over here?” Lohner mentioned when the conversation had hit a lull.

Catrinne’s eyes snapped open, and she stiffened against the wall, ready to bolt but pinned in place by curiosity.

“Your latest creation?” Markus joked.

“I keep telling you,” Lohner replied, exasperated. “It’s Catrinne. She did it just today.”

“Indeed,” the Captain drawled. “Lohner, I understand that you wish to bring levity to our situation with your jape, but it grows cold. Why…”

“Bloody hell,” Lohner growled. “CATRINNE! GET INTO THIS ROOM STRAIGHTAWAY!”

Lohner tried to convince the group of her existence, Olesya cackled at his discomfort, and Catrinne began to hyperventilate, panic coursing through her veins. Her invisibility cloak had faded and she knew that to raise it once more would drain her completely and possibly flare a crushing headache. _Maybe I should_ … Her foot twitched, and she gently pushed off from the wall, but then she imagined everyone’s faces when she stepped into the room. Glaring. Judging. Everyone in that chamber was a phenomenon, the very top of their disciplines, and Catrinne was…not. _A pathetic excuse for a wizard and a human_. Magister Schlussel’s words echoed in her head. _A paragon of mediocrity. Take this seal and leave. There will be no advancing for you_. She painted pictures while they saved the world.

She raised the cloak again, slipped back up the stairs to her sanctuary, a small room near the pinnacle of the Keep. The wind whistled through a hole in the ceiling, and Catrinne wrapped her threadbare blanket around her shoulders as her spell faded. She curled into a ball in her usual corner of the room and rocked until her breathing steadied. _Someday, maybe. Not today_.


	3. Chapter 3

_All engulfing darkness; dank, stale air; chittering whispers echoing on stone walls. Catrinne’s pulse sped at a rabbit’s pace, and her breath came in gulps. She reached out in the blackness to steady herself, her hand finding purchase on damp, cold rock. She shivered, knowing that if there were the slightest glimmer of light she would see her breath ghosting in front of her. She tried to gather her faculties, looking vainly for something, anything to guide her from this awful place._

_“Bloody hell, WHERE DID YOU GO?”_

_Captain Saltzpyre’s voice rang through the caves, and Catrinne nearly wept for joy. Footsteps sounded from behind, and a glimmer appeared in the tunnel behind her._

_“Faithless, lollygagging…WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?”_

_The torch-bearing Captain stormed past Catrinne, and she trailed close behind him. Oddly, he did not seem to notice her, just muttered grumpily to himself as he trudged through. She hadn’t cast any obscuring spells, or any spells at all for that matter._

_“…Sir?”_

_Saltzpyre paid her no mind, just charged forward, torch aloft in one hand and rapier ready in the other. The tunnels twisted and turned marked from time to time with wall sconces. This must be a mine, Catrinne realized, trailing behind him like a lost puppy. They went on and on, Saltzpyre ignoring her all the while. This was fine with Catrinne, as she’d no idea what she could possibly say to him._

_The air grew colder, and Catrinne wrapped her thin cloak tighter around her. Her teeth began to chatter, but Saltzpyre was seemingly unaffected. He walked on undeterred, and Catrinne’s heart thrilled to see natural light illuminating the stones ahead. Another turn, and they reached a great domed chamber, a fissure in the ceiling allowing a glittering cascade of snow to fall upon the ground below._

_“Oh thank Sigmar, the cart!”_

_The ground was lined with tracks, upon which sat a rickety-looking mining cart. What significance this carried was beyond Catrinne, but the Captain was elated to see it. The image of him silhouetted against the light and snow streaming from the ceiling struck Catrinne, and she wished that she’d had her sketchbook with her to capture the moment. He moved forward, and the chittering Catrinne had heard earlier intensified. Saltzpyre sprang into action, whipping around with lightning-fast reflexes, pistols in hand and aiming squarely at Catrinne._

_“Sir!” Catrinne raised her arms in surrender. “I am your friend! I mean you no harm!”_

_His expression did not change. His one eye seemed to be trying to focus upon something in the darkness behind her. Catrinne risked a backward glance, and saw a shift of movement there, a green flicker, and then a skaven flying at her at great speed. At the same time, she heard the report of the Captain’s pistols, and Catrinne screamed, squeezing her eyes shut and waiting for whichever doom would reach her first._

She opened them to find that she lay in her bed, in her drafty bedchamber, safely back at Taal’s Horn Keep. Her breath came in gasps, and she staggered over to the door for a gulp of fresh air to clear her muddled head. When she calmed, the image of the Captain alone in the mine flared again in her mind. Catrinne immediately set up her easel, canvas, and paints; then sketching the scene in charcoal while it still was fresh in her head. Her stomach grumbled, but she did not stop painting, fearing that the loss of momentum would leave the work unfinished. She painted as long as she had light, and when it dimmed she lit her lamp and stepped back to scrutinize her work. She was sure that it could be improved, but her patience had run out along with her stamina. Her stomach growled loudly enough to let her know that it would not be put off any longer.

The five were, as far as Catrinne knew, all somewhere in the Keep. They tended to keep to themselves, though, and Catrinne was fairly certain that they would have had dinner at this point. She carefully crept downstairs, painting in hand. Lohner milled about the central chamber, which made Catrinne nervous, but he wandered off toward the forge. Relieved, she sneaked down there, happy to speak with him in a location that wasn’t quite so open.

“There you are! You haven’t been down to the kitchen today, have you?” Lohner greeted her warmly.

“That’s my next stop,” Catrinne replied, handing him the painting. “I wanted to give you this first.”

“Well, look at that! This is inspired by the debriefing about the troll caves, isn’t it?”

 _Huh._ Catrinne had forgotten about that. “I…I suppose it was.”

“Just Saltzpyre though? You do realize that Bardin, Sienna and Markus were there too,” Lohner chided.

 _But that’s not what I saw_. Catrinne could have told him about the dream, but his reaction to her telling him of other visions made her pause. Such dreams could get her burnt alive by her very subject. She simply shrugged in response.

“Well, it’s a good likeness regardless,” Lohner went on, setting it on a ledge to better observe it. “I…”

“LOHNER! WHERE ARE YOU, I MUST SPEAK WITH YOU.” The Captain’s voice carried over the rushing water nearby.

“Don’t you….agh!” Lohner was too late. Catrinne had already vanished from sight. “Bloody hell, girl. OUT HERE, SALTZPYRE.”

“I have questions regarding the next mission.” Saltzpyre strode smoothly to the forge, chin raised, spine straight, left arm folded behind his back, right in front of his chest.

Catrinne admired how he could enter a room as if the world would pay him deference (whether it actually would or not). She wondered what it was like to possess that kind of self-assurance. He entered a room the same way, whether it be the Bridge room, the courtyard, or his own chamber.

“I wanted to know…what’s this?” Saltzpyre’s attention was apparently snagged by the painting on the ledge. “How flattering, Lohner, I must say you have a good eye.”

“Blasted girl,” Lohner grumbled, looking around him. “I didn’t do it, it was Catrinne! She’s around here somewhere…”

“Indeed. Lohner, were I a less merciful man, I would be very suspicious of your insistence upon imaginary artists. As it is…” Saltzpyre looked closer. “Well, that is curious.”

“What is?”

“This is in reference to our adventure in the mines, is it not? Did I mention that I was briefly separated from the group?” Saltzpyre turned to Lohner, his dark eye glittering in the torchlight.

“Were you?” Lohner sounded intrigued.

“I was,” the Captain continued. “Reached the cart and was attacked by a gutter runner. Fortunately my swift reflexes preserved my safety, and the others bumbled their way to the correct path not long after.”

Lohner stroked his chin. “That _is_ curious. I’ll have to speak with that girl.”

Saltzpyre frowned. “Still unwilling to give up the farce. Very well, I shall speak to you later when you are in a more serious mood, as I will clearly get naught but nonsense from you at the moment.” He paused to examine the painting. “It is fine work, though. Actually, I would go further to say that it is excellent. You should be proud.”

Catrinne beamed behind the forge, pressing her forehead to the warm stone. The Captain was not exactly generous with his praise.

“Go on, then.” Lohner grumbled as Saltzpyre departed.

Catrinne’s stomach growled again, revealing her location. Lohner glowered in her general direction.

“Hungry, are we? I should restrict you until you reveal yourself to the others. Blasted girl.” Lohner signed, heading to the door. “Come on, wherever you are. There’s plenty of stew and bread leftover in the kitchen.”


	4. Chapter 4

Belly full, Catrinne crept from the kitchen and into the darkened hall. She could hear Markus and Bardin sparring in the training yard and considered eavesdropping, but nearly being discovered by the Captain sped her steps back toward her room. She turned into a hallway just as Sienna’s door opened. Catrinne jumped, cloaking herself just in time. Sienna burst into the passage, in the same way she would burst into every room. Sienna charged forward and Catrinne flattened herself against the stone wall, holding her breath. Suddenly, Sienna stopped short, inches from where Catrinne stood, sniffing the air, and looking about. Catrinne had never seen the bright wizard up close, and even in her terror Catrinne appreciated the angles of her face, and powerful definition of her arms. A strong but oddly pleasant scent of sulfur carried from Sienna’s tanned skin, not unlike a freshly struck match.

“Ulgu…” Sienna murmured to herself. “Olesya, is that you?”

Catrinne’s pulse pounded in her ears. This was it. Catrinne hoped that Sienna wouldn’t panic and fry her upon discovery.

“Wizard.” Kerillian leapt from the roof outside to glide into the hallway. “Kruber and the dwarf are sparring in the courtyard, and Kruber’s wearing that ridiculous hat.” She idly tossed a small rock from hand to hand. “Two gold says I can knock it off at 30 yards.”

Sienna abandoned her search, joining the elf as Kerillian walked toward the stairs. “Ooh, you’re on! Either way, I win.”

As soon as the pair were out of earshot, Catrinne scampered up the stairs and back to her room, pacing and hopping about from excess nervous energy. She was getting careless, venturing downstairs when everyone was awake and about. Foolish. _Only late at night_ , she vowed to herself. _Never again_.

And for the next five days, she kept to it. While the sun shone, Catrinne sequestered herself to her chamber, peeking out of her window from time to time (and to empty the chamber pot from the cliff). She waited until the moons were high in the sky and all was still to creep down to the kitchen, wolf down whatever was left over from dinner and gather supplies for the next day. The Keep was eerie any time of day, but far worse at night, when the creaks and clangs sounded louder through the quiet halls. A howl echoed from time to time through the passages, and while Catrinne assured herself that it was just the strong mountain gales, it was never quite certain. She would reach her chamber again, light her little candle, and huddle under her thin blanket as the wind whistled through the hole in her roof. She wondered for the hundredth time why she accepted this job when she could be comfortably housed in some pampered noble’s manor. _Because of the dreams. Because you couldn’t rest otherwise_. Catrinne sighed despondently. _Because you know this is necessary_. As miserable as she was, at least the dreams did not disturb her as much, as she was actively heeding her call. For good or for ill, her visions led her here, and she would stay for as long as needed.

It wasn’t until the fifth day that Catrinne was forced to abandon her routine.

*

 

Olesya suddenly appeared on her threshold early that morning. “Come, girl. I need your help.”

Catrinne followed her without question as Olesya hobbled down, her wooden leg clacking upon each stair. Catrinne cautiously glanced about as they descended, expecting discovery at any moment. Wherever the Five were, though, they must have been occupied. Olesya led Catrinne to the Bridge room, where the elven monument pulsed with an azure glow.

“We go to Helmgart, you help me get something,” Olesya explained, rolling up her sleeves. “I need to strengthen the Keep’s shielding, and I need you for backup. The others are already there, causing ruckus and distracting Rotblood. Should be simple.” She handed Catrinne her pack. “Bring your bag.”

“W-wait, what?” Catrinne stammered. “Mistress, you’ve seen my skills. We both know that I am not up to the task! This is impossible! What if we come across the enemy?”

“You pretend is Ubersreik Five and disappear.” Olesya chuckled. “And not impossible. We go, we cast, we return. That is what happens.”

“Mistress.” Catrinne shook her tangled head violently. “How can you possibly say that?”

“Because you have no choice,” Olesya replied, stowing a few potions in her pack. “We go, you help, we succeed, or don’t and we die. Otherwise, you don’t go, cannot do spell, shielding fades on Keep, we die.” She let out a croaking laugh. “Better odds on first option. Not that it is option. Heh.” The blue dome of light crackled to life around them. “Never traveled this way before, have you? Best if you brace your knees.”

“Wait, what? No! WAIT-“

The world blurred and spun. Catrinne tried to scream, but the air was sucked from her lungs. Flashes of sky, mountain, wreckage, and the world suddenly crashed down around her. Her knees buckled and hit cold stone.

“Is always worst first time. You get better. Try not to vomit.” Olesya was already hobbling away from the site. “Come on, you do not want to linger in this place.”

Catrinne didn’t need to be told twice. Even with her head spinning, Catrinne knew that she had to start moving, and quickly. She stumbled to her feet and followed the wizard, trying to steady both her head and her steps all at once. When her vision finally cleared, Catrinne fought to control the roiling in her stomach. She followed Olesya through a living nightmare. Gouged buildings barely clung to what was left of the street, a yawning precipice waiting for them to lose purchase. The cobblestones beneath her feet unsteady, painted with blood and viscera. Corpses, corpses, everywhere; in varying conditions. Some, bisected, dripped as they hung from rafters. Some were impaled, like misplaced scarecrows. Most were simply scattered carelessly about the streets like so much litter. After a moment Catrinne realized that, strangely enough, there was not a single female body among the dead in the streets. Somehow, it was not a comforting thought. Catrinne’s breath began to come in gasps, but this was worse. The stench was unbearable. She clapped her hands over her mouth and nose, trying not to whimper.

Olesya made her way forward paying the gruesome surroundings no mind. How could she be so unaffected? The sights made Catrinne want to throw herself into the gorge. This was it, this was what the world was coming to. Her visions had shown her glimpses of these scenes, but Catrinne did not want to take them seriously. _The mad wanderings of an anxious mind_ , she had assured herself. But here they were, and here she was, standing in the midst of unfathomable carnage, crows and rats feasting as if at a banquet.

Catrinne had not noticed Olesya hobbling back to her. The wizard grasped her hand and tugged her forward.

“Come, girl,” Olesya said, not unkindly. “Panic later. Work now.”

Catrinne nodded absently and continued with her, and within moments they reached a demolished library. Olesya gingerly picked her way through the wreckage, uncovering a panel in the floor.

“There we are.” Olesya said. “Easy peasy. Open that for me, won’t you?”

Catrinne wedged the panel open, and uncovered a staircase leading into darkness. Swallowing heavily, Catrinne descended as Olesya sent a small beam of light to guide her. Catrinne found nothing special there, just old vegetables and some sacks of grain. However, a tingling in the air told her that something was not quite right.

“You feel that?” Olesya asked. “Odd that a magic library has need for a root cellar, is it not? Whoever took care of this before had some skill, I must admit. I hope they were able to escape in time, whoever they were. Anyway, I need help. Together we can find out what’s _really_ here, I think.”

“I’ll certainly try.” Catrinne liked that the mystery wizard had been able to put one over on the invaders.

Catrinne’s only real skill in magic was in cloaking herself, but the curiosity and need to succeed made her steel herself for the task rather than beg Olesya for another stay. She tried to recall her studies… _It’s there, it’s there, how have you not found it yet, dullard? I could have dismantled this illusion in my sleep! Utterly useless. Rachel, show her how to do it._ Catrinne sagged, trying to sift through Magister Schlussel’s rants for vital information.

“Search for the thread, dear,” Olesya called down. “It always starts with the thread, and then you unravel it all.”

Catrinne closed her eyes, feeling the Winds of Ulgu shifting around her. The spell was a tight weave, elaborate, the work of a master. Catrinne admired it in her mind’s eye, and wished she’d had more time to properly examine the work. _It has to start somewhere_ …She cast about, looking for one fray, one stray, and… _there_.

“Got it,” Catrinne said, and mentally tugged at the thread.

She began to untangle the spell easily, buoyed by pride and Olesya’s assistance. It took a little time and care, but first one corner unraveled, then an entire edge, and before Catrinne knew it she had undone the whole intricate affair, and it collapsed in wisps of smoke.

“Excellent,” Olesya observed. “Open your eyes, girl, see what we have found.”

Catrinne saw before her a small chamber brimful of scrolls, books, and in the center…

“That cannot be…is that really…?”

“The whole reason we’re here. Should help hide the Keep for a bit longer, I think,” Olesya replied. “Stow it in your pack.”

 _Crystal mist_ …Catrinne had never seen one so big, and even at the Grey College only behind glass. This one was larger than her head, raw with rough unpolished edges, a soft lambent glow emanating from its center. It hummed with energy when Catrinne lifted it, and she fought the urge to hug it to her chest, loathing to stow it away. She grabbed as many scrolls and books as would fit in her pack and climbed out of the cellar.

“Mask it so we can pick up the rest later,” Olesya said. “No time to get them today.”

With Olesya’s aid, the task was simple. Catrinne murmured the incantations, and the space was a root cellar once more.

“It’s not as strong as the other spell,” Catrinne observed. “Sorry.”

“Doesn’t need to be,” Olesya replied. “The books are nice, but we’re taking the only thing of real power here. Besides, I doubt the Rotbloods or the Skaven would notice them even without the spell. Come, we…”

They both froze. The stench of several charnel houses wafted through the breeze, and Catrinne could not ignore a sense of extreme wrongness approaching.

“Hide yourself,” Olesya hissed. “Get to the temple. There’s a Bridge within. The one nearby must recharge.”

“But Mistress, I won’t…”

“Go!” Olesya ordered. “I can handle this. Get the Crystal out of here. He must not know of it. Go!”

Catrinne cloaked herself just in time. A crackling burst of green light heralded the presence of a massive mound of meat swathed in filthy rags.

“Well, this is an interesting development.” The creature’s voice was thick with malice and possibly mucus. “An old crone lurking around my city! Any addition to my muculent broth is welcome.”

“Oh Halescourge, you bloated bastard.” Olesya chuckled. “It will soon be very apparent that this is not your city.”

Olesya waved her hands, and black tendrils of smoke rose from the shadows to wrap around the mage. Catrinne wavered, unwilling to let Olesya face this creature alone, yet knowing that there was little she could do to help.

“Go!” Olesya barked.

Catrinne did not need to be told again. She bolted out into the streets, pack thumping on her back, past the portal in which they had arrived. She halted in the shadow of an old shopfront to catch her breath and  search for some sign of the great temple. An explosion in the distance caught her attention, and she headed in that direction, praying that her spell would hold.


	5. Chapter 5

The Chaos Spawn lashed and spat as the four struck at it, its gaping maw snapping and tentacles swinging wildly. Markus hacked at the thing with his sword, knocking the creature’s blows back with his shield. He ducked when Sienna sent her flames its way, and the spawn started toward her until Kerillian sent several arrows its way. Victor himself jabbed at the thing with his rapier, the stench wafting from it making his head swim. A disgusting green ichor leaked from its wounds and the thing howled in agony, flailing its tongue-like appendages. Suddenly, it grasped Victor about the waist and hoisted him in the air.

“It’s got Saltzpyre!” Sienna cried. “Get it! Get it, before he’s lunch!”

Victor struggled in the thing’s slimy clutches, but it held fast. He didn’t have a chance to scream before the spawn hoisted him into its mouth, his head engulfed with fetid slime and cruel fangs _. So this is it_ , he thought. Not the most dignified way to go, but at least he was going down fighting. He only wished he could be proclaiming his faith as he succumbed.

However, it seemed that Morr was not quite ready for Victor. The Spawn screeched, nearly deafening him as it withdrew him, whipping Victor about like an angry child with a rag doll. It tossed him as if he were weightless, and Victor sailed through the air, over a ledge, and crashed into a makeshift market stall. The canopy probably saved his life, but Victor still felt the snap of several ribs as he hit the ground tangled in its canvas.

Please, please…Victor regained his bearings, trying to ignore the searing pain arcing through his torso. Sigmar blessed him, though. Not only had he not lost grip of his rapier, he reached for his healing potion and found that it had withstood the crash. Shaking, he uncorked the vile brew and poured it into his throat, grunting as it did its work. He lay in the heap, waiting as the sinew and bone reknit themselves. When Victor was reasonably certain that it was finished, he rose, warily scanning the surroundings for enemies. He oriented himself and realized that the damn thing had flung him ridiculously far. It would take some effort to rejoin his comrades.

 _Damn and blast_ , he grumbled, beginning to make his way back. He froze, though, hearing the telltale march of a Stormvermin regiment heading his way. It sounded as if there were at least twenty of the wretched things. _Out of the frying pan_ … It seemed he had not quite escaped Morr’s grasp after all _. Still better than being chewed alive by a putrid Chaos Spawn, at least_. He cast about for a decent hiding place, but the space was maddeningly open. He readied his rapier and waited as they drew closer.

“…Sir?”

A soft voice whispered behind him, and Victor spun to find a pale young woman hooded in a thin grey cloak standing petrified behind him. He leveled his blade to her throat and she raised her hands in surrender.

“A survivor? Where the hell did you come from?” Victor demanded, careful not to raise his voice.

The woman squeezed her eyes shut, shaking. “I…I…I…”

“ _Eeeh…yah…eeh…yah_ …” The Stomvermin grew ever closer.

Victor heaved a sigh, lowering his rapier. “I’ve no idea how you survived this far, but I’m sure you can hear what is coming. You’d better run. Not sure how far you’ll make it in this mess, but I can hold these things off at least.”

“No.”

Victor turned to look at her. She still wore the same wide-eyed, terrified expression, but she stood her ground. She tentatively reached forward to grasp his wrist and pulled him toward the wall.

“I need you to trust me,” she said, her voice barely audible, and Victor was so stunned that he did so.

The woman murmured a few words Victor could not catch, gesticulated subtly with her free hand, and he felt a strange sensation wash over him. Still holding his wrist, the woman flattened herself against the wall, and Victor instinctively did the same.

“ _EEH…YAH…EEH…YAH…_ ”

The regiment appeared from around a corner, and Victor felt the woman tighten her grip on his wrist. She bit her lip, staring pointedly ahead. Victor looked back at the Stormvermin, who marched toward them, still taking no notice.

“ ** _EEH…YAH…EEH…YAH…_** ”

Closer and closer. Victor had been mistaken, as there were at least thirty in this regiment. Miraculously, not a single one seemed to see them.  They clanked and clattered onward, metal on metal on fur, close enough that Victor could see the fleas leaping from one to the other. On and on. It felt as if time had slowed.

“ _EEH…YAH…EEH…YAH…_ ”

After what felt like an infinity, the Stormvermin moved on away from the market, and fortunately away from where his comrades had been fighting the chaos spawn. When the creatures were no longer in earshot, the woman finally released his wrist and bent forward, wheezing. Victor’s hand tingled as circulation returned and he rubbed his wrist absently.

Victor waited for her to collect herself, then began his interrogation. “Right. Who in Sigmar’s name _are_ you?”

“I’m…I’m Catrinne.”

“Wait, _you’re_ Catrinne? You actually _do_ exist?” It took genuine effort for Victor to not raise his voice. “I was under the impression that you were a mere artist, if not a figment of Lohner’s imagination. Why haven’t we ever seen you? It is irresponsible in the extreme for you to venture into this perilous city! What the hell are you doing _here_?”

The woman spoke haltingly, her breath still coming in gasps. “Master Lohner hired me as an artist, but I am certified with the Grey Order. I was _not_ hired to practice, though Mistress Olesya insists that I do so. It’s not part of the job description.” Catrinne frowned. “She dragged me here to retrieve something, but we were attacked by a Rotblood sorcerer and she sent me away to find the other Bridge. She sent me away, but I think maybe we should go help her.”

As if on cue, Olesya’s voice sounded in his head. “ALL RIGHT, EVERYONE. GET BACK TO KEEP. MAKE SURE THAT STONE IS WITH YOU.”

Catrinne’s eyes widened. “Did you hear that?”

“It’s not the first time the crone has barked orders at us so. Suspect in the extreme. Borders on heresy, I think,” Victor grumbled. “Very well, let us rejoin the others. I take it you are in possession of this stone?” When Catrinne nodded, he continued. “I am guessing you are not much for battle. In the inevitability that when encounter trouble, hide yourself. I am more than enough match for whatever should find us.”

“Yessir.”

Victor glanced back at the woman. Mid-twenties by the look of her, from what little he could see under her hood. Hunched shoulders, wary gait, shadowed eyes darting about in search of threats. She looked as if she wanted to disappear into her cloak. As they made their way through the wrecked streets of Helmgart, Victor catalogued questions for this mysterious resident of the Keep. How could he have been so oblivious to her presence? How long had she been there? Had Lohner had her properly vetted? She could easily be a spy for the ruinous powers. Victor checked behind him again and caught Catrinne studying him. She quickly cast her eyes to the cobblestones. Had more a shy rather than shifty air to her, but better to err on the side of caution. A rogue grey wizard could be devastating to their whole operation. _She_ did _just save my life, though_. The voice popped up in the back of Victor’s head, and he tamped it back down. Grateful as he was to be alive, Victor knew that there could be ulterior motives to preserving him at this time. Victor prided himself in having full knowledge of his surroundings and colleagues, and the idea that she’d been lurking around them unseen for Sigmar knew how long was disconcerting to say the least. Not only that, he would have to pay up on his bet with the elf.

The streets were littered with Chaos dead, some charred, some pincushioned with arrows, some just hacked to pieces. Victor’s heart swelled at the sight. It seemed that their path had been cleared by the others. Catrinne gasped, and Victor saw the huge, roasted corpse of the chaos spawn sprawled against an alleyway. Victor considered spitting on the thing, but that would have been unseemly. His hat was perched atop it, he was pleased to see. Victor retrieved it, brushed off any excess debris, and replaced it upon his head.

“What is that…thing?” Catrinne asked, her hand clamped over her nose and mouth.

“Chaos Spawn,” Victor explained. “The greatest ‘gift’ a Rotblood can receive from his foul host. They…”

**_“What’s this?”_ **

 Victor stopped short at the sound of growling speech and the heavy clank of metal.

“Hide yourself,” Victor hissed.

Two Rotblood fighters appeared from one of the alleys flanking a massive Chaos Warrior. They crowed upon seeing Victor alone, clearly considering him easy prey. Victor grinned. It would not be easy, but he would enjoy proving them wrong.

“Puny Sigmarite,” sounded the Warrior, the crash of its armor echoing upon the walls.

The smaller Rotbloods charged forward, and Victor made short work of them. A dodge, and two thrusts of his rapier through their guts and they fell in a groaning heap. The Warrior took longer but built momentum, swinging its massive rusted axe at Victor. Victor leapt aside, and the blade left a huge gouge in the cobblestones. Victor danced around the thing, his rapier finding every separation of its armor, jabbing it relentlessly in the eyes, relying on his speed and dexterity to vanquish the Warrior. It finally fell with a gurgling, frustrated howl; the crash of it sounding through the streets and likely alerting every Rotblood and Skaven in the vicinity. Victor steeled himself, hearing footsteps growing nearer from one of the sidestreets.

“There he is!”

Victor relaxed. Faithful Kruber rounded the corner, closely followed by Sienna and Kerillian.

“Looks like we’re stuck with him for a bit longer,” Sienna grinned. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

“We were afraid you’d run afoul of that Stormvermin regiment stomping about,” Kruber said.

“Just barely escaped their notice,” Victor replied. “Though I’d lucked into a bit of aid. Catrinne?”

Victor worried that the wizard would remain hidden and make a fool of him just as she had Lohner, but the air several feet away shimmered and materialized into the hooded woman. She waved sheepishly to the group, who goggled at her presence.

“Wha-“ Sienna stammered. “She’s real?”

“And I look forward collecting your coin when we return to the Keep,” Kerillian told them smugly. “So let’s go. The sooner we return, the better.”


	6. Chapter 6

Catrinne tried to pretend that she wasn’t struggling to keep up with the group, but it was proving difficult. She had a stitch in her side, and while the others paused to gain their bearings, Catrinne would turn away to try and catch her breath. She’d been on battlefields, but usually at a distance, stationary with her easel. Today, she ran, ducked, climbed; more exercise than she’d had in her entire life. It was pitiful. The rest of the group was so much older than her (in Kerillian’s case, probably by a few hundred years), and all were far more hale and nimble. Catrinne felt like a slug in comparison, Kerillian’s jabs about her dexterity certainly not improving her mood.

It didn’t help that Catrinne had extended her mental faculties far beyond her capabilities as well. She could feel the storm ready to move in, thankfully held off by adrenaline thus far. She’d had to cloak herself several more times since meeting up with the rest of the group, and she was beginning to become numb with terror. The ratmen were relentless, appearing out of nowhere, swarming without warning. The Rotbloods were clumsy and easier to detect, but dead-eyed and wild. Every time she would have to hide, it was not certain if her spell would hold. It was only a matter of time before it would fail.

The others cut the enemy down with aplomb, though. Catrinne would watch them, half-petrified, half-awestruck. They were a wonder to behold, mowing down the creatures like so much threshed wheat, leaving piles upon piles of the evil dead in their wake. They repeated this the whole way, making a bit of progress before being halted by a swarm of Chaos. Eventually, they did reach the massive temple, a place which in any other circumstance would have been glorious and impressive.

“Such sacrilege,” the Captain breathed. “By Sigmar, I will see this avenged.”

Catrinne’s heart sank at the sight of him taking in the outrages committed upon the temple. Markus swore under his breath, but Saltzpyre was genuinely anguished. Catrinne wished that she’d had some words of comfort to give, but it wasn’t as if they’d had time to linger.

“We must ring the bell!” Saltzpyre called.

It seemed that the gates protecting the Bridge would not open unless they did so. Another hurdle, another obstacle. Catrinne felt dead on her feet. She shuffled after the group toward the central chamber, a wonder of marble and gold, Sigmar raising his mighty hammer over it all.

“Stay in that corner,” Saltzpyre barked at Catrinne. “And stay hidden until I give the word. This will be a battle unlike anything you’ve ever encountered.”

Considering the battles they’d already endured, Catrinne wasn’t sure that she could bear anything worse than she’d already seen. Not having a choice, though, she obeyed and muttered a quick prayer to Sigmar before they struck the bell. She climbed atop a broken pillar and cloaked herself one more time. The bell sounded, ringing through the temple sharp and clear, buoying her spirits enough that she felt ready for whatever was to come. A wondrous light beamed from Sigmar’s hammer, and the Captain crowed in delight at the sight of it.

Unfortunately, the rats came along with it. Seas of Skaven boiled over into the temple, scores _, hundreds_. The four didn’t flinch. They set to work. Catrinne huddled on the pillar as the creatures screeched and swarmed below her feet. She watched in shock, unable to process the horde, heads and limbs flying, gouts of flame spurting forth to roast the things. Catrinne’s eye was pulled toward Sienna, who shrieked with laughter as she sent forth her fires. The bright wizard battled on, oblivious to a gunner rat lurking behind her. Catrinne wanted to raise her voice, but there was no way she would be heard over the din. _I could send a bolt_ …Catrinne groaned in frustration. _Bloody hell, I can’t do that even in the best of situations_. Not only that, she was half-destroyed as it was. She looked down at the others risking life and limb. What, was she to do nothing in fear of a nasty headache while they suffered stabs, poison, and worse? _Pathetic._ Magister Schlussel had been right to scorn her so.

Without thinking further Catrinne sent a bolt of shadow the gunner’s way, or at least she tried to. The bolt arced over the hordes, then fizzled when it struck the ratling. Catrinne swore to herself, but the gunner let out a startled shriek, alerting Sienna to its presence. The bright wizard made short work of the thing, then returned to cut down the others surrounding her with her glowing sword.

After what felt like an infinity, that wondrous glow from Sigmar’s hammer waxed in intensity, until a great thunderclap filled the hall. When everything dimmed, they beheld their enemy burnt to cinders. Unfortunately, as soon as Sigmar’s light faded, so did Catrinne’s stamina. The hall blurred, and Catrinne dizzily stumbled from the pillar and landed in a heap upon the floor.

“Praise Sigmar, the gates are down!” Saltzpyre cried. “Let’s get moving!”

Catrinne shambled after them, her spine bruised by the countless thumps of her heavy pack upon her back. She followed them down the staircase where they were met by a most beautiful sight. Their Bridge, their escape. The light swallowed Catrinne, the world spun, and her bruised knees hit stone once more. Whether it was her mental, her physical, her emotional exertions; or even just the trip through the portal, Catrinne did not know; but this time she could no longer keep the contents of her stomach tamped down. She heard the others recoil in disgust as she was sick, but there was no time for humiliation. Before Catrinne could even apologize, the room blurred and went black.

 

*

 

“…could have been killed! What on earth were you thinking, Olesya?”

Catrinne could hear Lohner ranting nearby. Her skull throbbed, and she knew that if she moved or opened her eyes she would lose whatever she had left in her stomach. She felt bundled fabric under her head and cool stone under her body. The pain and nausea were manageable so long as she didn’t move.

“You treat her like child, Lohner. She is capable! We need every hand we can get! Besides, she’ll be fine! She’s all in one piece,” Olesya replied.

“I come in to find her face-down in her own sick!” Lohner scolded. “I hired the girl to be an _artist_. You drag a civilian out into the thick of it without my say-so and bring her back demolished, and this was the best case scenario! That’s a perfectly good painter you’ve ruined!”

“She is not civilian!” Olesya argued. “She just needs practice! Great potential here. She disabled that illusion like a professional, she just needed to believe I was helping her. Can you imagine the advantage of having two Grey wizards on hand?”

“Where did you find this person?” Catrinne heard the Captain pipe up. “I find it suspect in the extreme that she would not reveal herself until today. And why didn’t _you_ confirm her existence?”

“Was funny.” Catrinne could hear the shrug in Olesya’s voice.

“So you let us believe that Lohner was insane rather than alert us to the presence of an interloper? Not one of us knew that this creature was lurking in our midst!”

“Speak for yourself, One-Eye,” Kerillian interjected. “I knew from the first. She lives in the little room above the crows’ nests. I liked to see how many pebbles I could stack on her forehead while she slept.”

 _That’s what that was?_ Catrinne often awoke shaking pebbles from her face, but she’d assumed it was just her roof continuing to crumble.

“That’s not fair! Trust an _elgi_ to cheat in an honest wager,” Bardin crowed. “I demand our coin back this instant.”

“There was no rule against actually having seen her,” Kerillian replied dismissively. “It’s not my fault you folk are oblivious. Lumberfoot thought she was subtle, but I could hear her thumping footfalls from leagues away.”

To add to the cavalcade of unpleasant sensations swirling around inside Catrinne, her cheeks now burned with humiliation.

“So you knew there was a spy in our midst and said nothing?” Saltzpyre barked. “This was essential information!”

“For one thing, it was hilarious,” Kerillian replied. “For another, she hides in her room most of the time. If she’s a spy, she’s not a very effective one.”

“For Sigmar’s sake…” Lohner sounded exasperated. “She’s not a bloody spy. Believe it or not, Saltzpyre, but my connections are not exactly limited, and I am _not_ careless.”

“Indeed, our humble bartender’s reach stretches far,” Sienna interjected. “Wait, that was her the other day, wasn’t it, Kerillian? And you led me away! That bloody well _is_ cheating! Give me back my coin, you shifty crook!”

“Fine. But you only.” Catrinne heard a jingle of coins.

“How long has she been here?” Markus, this time. He sounded very close.

“About six weeks,” Lohner replied. “I _did_ tell you when she arrived.”

“That long! Why the hell didn’t she say hello?” Markus sounded rather hurt. “Would’ve been nice to have a new face around here.”

“Especially a pretty one, eh Markus?” Sienna teased.

“She’s timid.” Olesya spat. “Needs to be toughened up. I allowed her cloaking herself as it was sharpening her skills, but we can’t have her afraid of her own shadow anymore.”

“So you do this by dragging her into the worst of Helmgart. This is unconscionable, Olesya!” Lohner cried. “What if she doesn’t recover!”

“Pfft, she’s just exhausted,” Olesya dismissed. “Is normal for overcasting, she’ll be fine in a day. The more she does, the easier it is.”

“You’re being careless,” Lohner replied.

“And you are overprotective!” Olesya countered. “She is not child! She is grown woman with valuable skills!”

“Yes, and those are properly documenting our exploits for the Counts,” Lohner replied. “I hired an _artist_ , not a wizard, and you could have gotten her killed today.”

Olesya took a deep breath. “It is…possible I was a bit too hasty in taking her on mission. But she rose to occasion! Did she help or slow you down?” Catrinne assumed that she addressed the others.

“I feel compelled to admit…” Saltzpyre sounded as if he were pacing. “…that she _did_ help me out of a tight spot. That said, she is far too soft for these endeavors and could barely keep up with us. I would not recommend similar courses of action unless she has proven that she could hold her own.”

“Fine, fine,” Olesya conceded. “I jumped the gun. Will be more careful in future. But do not discount this girl! She could be useful.”

It sounded as if the group began to disperse, and Catrinne began to drift off to blessed oblivion again. A voice at her ear snapped her back to attention.

“Lohner believes you harmless, but _I_ am not so gullible.” Saltzpyre’s breath was licorice and wine, hot against her cheek. Catrinne suppressed a shudder. “As soon as you are lucid, you will face _my_ questioning, and you had better be truthful, for I will not be so lenient as he.”


	7. Chapter 7

Catrinne slept fitfully upon the stone slab, the ambient sounds of the Keep drifting over her. Without opening her eyes, she divined that she lay upon one of the platforms in the central chamber. The clink of bottles and bubbling of a cauldron behind her (plus the muttering of Olesya), the rustle of parchment and Lohner’s grumbling to the right of her, the echo of various voices intermittently from above. Her skull throbbed, her stomach gurgled, her back ached against the cold stone. She stayed stock still though, did not shift or wriggle, though her legs itched to move. Catrinne refused to call any more attention to herself. From time to time she could sense someone standing over her, probably curious to examine the newly discovered resident. She scented sulfur once or twice, metal polish and stale liquor other times, and once or twice a cloud of ale gusted nearby. Most often, though, was the heavy presence of tobacco, leather, and anise. Catrinne would go very still at these times, concentrating on keeping her breath steady and her eyelids and legs from twitching. It was agonizing, worse than the headache crushing her skull. It was as if his scrutiny had physical weight.

Hours passed, and the Keep grew silent save for the groans and creaks of the old masonry and timber (Catrinne hoped, anyway). When she was sufficiently confident that all slept, Catrinne finally opened her eyes. All was blessedly dim. Her vision swam when she sat up, but she was able to maintain equilibrium after a few moments. The pain in her head, while still unpleasant, had subsided to manageable levels. She stood, swayed, and shuffled toward the stairs. Overtaken by dizziness, she climbed them on all fours, pausing from time to time to gather what little strength lingered. After an interminable time, she reached her ledge, the cold wind biting through her robes as she crawled to her room. The gusts whistled through the hole in her roof, but Catrinne paid it no mind. Her only aim was the scrap of leftover bread upon her table, and she tore into the stale hunk as if it were ambrosia. She scrabbled onto her bed, chewing all the while, and managed two swallows before passing out, crumbling bread in hand. 

*

_“This town was sold from within. My every instinct cries out!”_

_Catrinne’s nostrils stung. The air was dense, thick with the smoke of burning timbers and roasted bodies. The Captain was to the right of her, and she could hear the others nearby. Catrinne coughed, but no one seemed to notice._

_“Why do you say that, Sir?” Markus asked as they strode through a path lined with the remnants of a doomed caravan._

_“I have done business here before. Baron Justus Francke had me summoned to investigate a suspected witch.”_

_“Let me guess,” Sienna interjected. “You burned the poor soul.”_

_“Not at all,” replied the Captain. “Baron Francke levied the accusation to cover up for his adulteries. It was a poor deception.”_

_“Really?” Markus asked as Catrinne hacked and sputtered beside them, side-stepping a bloated corpse._

_“Indeed.” Saltzpyre continued. “I offered him a choice of donating half of his fortune to the Church of Sigmar or taking her place on the pyre, but…” He paused as they reached the outskirts of Ussingen._

_Catrinne had only seen Ussingen in passing, having switched coaches there en route to Bogenhafen once. It had seemed a small but vibrant, bustling town. The sight before her was very different from that recollection. They beheld what looked like a substantial wall, a huge cavity gouged in it, the rubble still smoking and strewn with various limbs._

_“…but I regret offering that small mercy.” Saltzpyre spat bitterly. “_ Here _is the result._ Here _is the price of my tolerance.”_

_A horn sounded behind them, and the group steeled themselves for the flood._

_“I should have had that bastard burned.” Saltzpyre levelled his pistols at the enemy._

_Catrinne cast her cloak, squeezing her eyes shut as she cowered against a ramshackle fence._

_*_

When she opened them again, she found her fists still clenched, and her body curled into a tense ball in her bed. The sun was high in the sky and her stomach loudly and painfully demanded filling. Catrinne scented a platter of steaming stew, hard cheese and a fresh loaf of bread, still warm, awaiting her upon her bedside table. Relieved at the absence of pain spiking through her head, Catrinne murmured a quick prayer of thanks to Shallya and proceeded to inhale the meal, barely tasting it.

“It is about time you’ve awakened.”

Catrinne nearly jumped out of her skin, spluttering the mouthful of food onto her bodice. Captain Saltzpyre reclined in her chair in the darkened corner of her chamber, observing her with one keen eye. She brushed herself off and swallowed the bites as quickly as she could, the blood rushing to her head. She peered out of her window to avoid facing the hunter staring her down, knowing that her face had to be beet red.

“It looks to be past noon,” Catrinne observed, still avoiding his eye. “I’ve badly overslept.”

“You have no idea,” Saltzpyre replied. “You have been asleep for two days. I was about to wake you myself.”

“Two days,” Catrinne muttered to herself, shaking her head.

“You were slumbering rather fitfully by the looks of it. Coughing quite a bit.” When Catrinne idled awkwardly, staring at her hands, he added. “Finish your meal.”

Were Catrinne not ravenous, or still muddled from sleep, she probably wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to eat in front of the Captain. As it was, though, she scarfed down the rest of the food, only pausing once to offer Saltzpyre some of the meal. He declined.

“ _I_ have not been lying abed for days like some pampered sybarite,” he smirked. “Eat, and then you answer my questions. Your aid with the patrol has earned that and no more.”

Catrinne’s stomach squirmed. She knew that anything further would not sit well. “I…think I am finished.”

“Very well!” Saltzpyre rose from the chair and loomed over her. “Right. What is your true name?”

Catrinne reflexively shrank into the corner of her bed. “I’m…It’s…Catrinne Wiedenhahn. Professionally, I go by Catrinne of Aldenstein.”

“And that is your town of origin?” Saltzpyre asked, peering owlishly at her. “It sounds conjured up. I’ve never heard of the place.”

“It’s tiny.” Catrinne explained. “A little village outside of Colmfaehre. More a glorified farm than anything else.”

“Averlander.” Saltzpyre mused. “I suppose that explains quite a bit. Bizarre behavior, moon-touched tendencies…” He turned to her again, his eye pinning Catrinne where she sat. “Your name proclaims your origin as if you are a person of importance, though you come from common farmstock. Why give yourself such airs?”

For the first time, annoyance began to stir in Catrinne’s gut, nearly nudging her alarm aside. “Master Richter said it was a good way to catch the influence of patrons.”

“Aldo Richter?” Saltzpyre replied, his dark eyebrow quirked. “I have seen his work. It is serviceable enough.” He tapped his chin. “Was this gambit effective?”

Catrinne nodded. “Effective enough. I never lacked for work.”

“So you could be warm and cozy in some noble’s manor, painting a pampered courtesan and her plump lapdog,” Saltzpyre observed.

“I could.” Catrinne shrugged. “I have always preferred war documentation, though. It has become a specialty of sorts.”

“You’ve done this sort of job before.” It wasn’t a question. “I demand to know where.”

‘There was a conflict with undead outside of Leicheburg,” Catrinne replied. “A beastman skirmish outside of Middenheim…Averheim, Marienburg, Kemperbad…” She gusted a sigh. “…Schoenfeld…”

The emphasis upon the last city was noted but not remarked upon. Saltzpyre began to pace, his right arm folded behind his back.

“And you shun luxury in favor of conflict? You venture to this lonely outpost?” The Captain questioned. “It is very curious.”

_Because nobles are handsy, awful, useless creatures._ Catrinne’s drafty little room here was far preferable to Baron Stueben’s velvet and silk dream of a bedchamber, current situation notwithstanding. However, that was only part of it. _My visions spurred me here_. If Catrinne admitted the true reason, Saltzpyre would have her lit up like a candle in a matter of minutes. “This sort of work feels more essential. It is needed.”

“And I suppose your magical skills aid you in your endeavor?”

“After a fashion, yes.”

Saltzpyre whirled upon her so fast that Catrinne jumped in her seat, his face twisting into a nasty grimace. “And you find your scribbles more essential than using your certified, arcane expertise to save lives? I find _that_ curious also.”

“Expertise?” The annoyance building in Catrinne’s gut turned to indignation, and for the first time eclipsed her fear. “My grey magic skills are mediocre at best. You have seen me in action. I refuse to have someone perish due to my ineptitude.”

“Pathetic!” Saltzpyre barked. “Such lazy, feeble excuses! You have resided here for over six week, watching us, mocking us. You could have been…”

“My Magister made no secret of his disdain. He also called me pathetic, but worthless as well, a waste of time and money.” Catrinne rose to face the Captain for the first time. “This is on record. I am no warrior, nor am I a deft conjurer. Lohner hired me for one reason only. I’ve no idea why this is such an issue!”

“Because it is very easy to feign incompetence,” Saltzpyre hissed. “I have encountered this game before and seen the disaster left in its wake.”

“It is no game, Sir!”

“Then what is this?” The Captain raised a necklace, its jade pendant softly glowing in the midday sunlight. “Seems a bit flash for an itinerant starving artist.”

Any remnant of intimidation was now replaced by a raw fury. “You’ve gone through my things?”

“It is my job to investigate all things shady and shifty,” Saltzpyre replied. “If you…”

Just the sight of it recalled a shock of sleek, dark hair; sly eyes echoing the jade of the pendant. “ _I will return to claim that kiss, by Sigmar and the heavens above! Have faith and raise a glass for me, my dove, for soon we will be dancing upon the ramparts in triumph…”_

“Give that back!” Catrinne, her rage robbing her of discretion, lunged for the necklace.

Before she could react, Saltzpyre’s dagger was at her throat, his face inches from hers, his one eye alight with malice. She could feel the heat of his tobacco and licorice breath upon her, the steel of his blade cold against her skin.

“What is its significance?”

Catrinne was paralyzed, a thrill of terror and a sensation she could not quite place coursing through her veins. “It…it was a gift. I don’t even know if it’s genuine, and I doubt it’s worth much coin.”

_“A peddler from Nippon came through, and all I could think of was how much it would suit your pretty throat.”_ Catrinne’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“It means a great deal to me,” she added, forcing herself to meet Saltzpyre’s challenging gaze. “Test it if you like, but I beg of you to return it. I… _what have I done to deserve this?_ ”

Saltzpyre did not move, just studied her for several long moments. Finally, he withdrew, tossing her the necklace.

“You lurked in shadow watching us, stalking us, examining us without our knowledge,” Saltzpyre replied evenly. “You were able to do so for six weeks without _my_ notice, a fact that I find galling beyond words, and a feat which is not easily accomplished. It is highly suspicious.”

He turned and made for the door, and Catrinne almost sagged with relief, when he stopped short at the threshold.

“Do not presume that we are finished here. I have my eye on you, wizard.”


	8. Chapter 8

_I didn’t sign up for this._

Saltzpyre was right, Catrinne _could_ have been in the lap of luxury, painting some louche lord’s mistress and retiring to either her own well-appointed chamber or a decent room at a respectable inn. Sigmar knew it would be far easier, safer, and her privacy would be more easily defended. She would never be called upon to cast, indeed, her patrons would not even be aware of said skills. It was more than tempting at this point.

She stood in the center of her room fuming, clutching her necklace so hard that the edges gouged into her skin. The drafts cut through her thin cloak, her stomach quailed either from rage or the remnants of her illness (or both), and the blasted headache had returned to squeeze her skull. Why the hell _was_ she here? Were the visions truly that imperative? Lohner was right, he had hired an artist. Anything further was outside of the job description, and nearly getting her killed was a breach of contract. She could leave. She _should_ leave.

Catrinne’s hand throbbed, and she looked down to find a small trickle of blood from her palm. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she found the ratty scrap of silk which normally had encased the necklace. Catrinne retrieved it, reverently folded the jewel inside it, and returned it to her drawer underneath her linens. Upon opening the drawer, with a flare of embarrassment and indignation, she realized that her underthings had been thoroughly rifled through. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming, settling for stomping her foot instead.

That was it. She definitely was not going to endure another magical hangover like this. Why the hell would anyone want to see these nightmarish images anyway? Rotbloods this far south? _Skaven?_ No one would believe that madness anyway. _To hell with this assignment_. Catrinne threw open her trunk and began piling her meagre belongings into it. Every drawer opened revealed that all of her possessions had been disturbed, strengthening her purpose. _Visions be damned_. If it really were the end of the world, she was not going to spend it miserable, cold, and under constant surveillance. Escape from the area would be tricky, but if she could survive the onslaught in Helmgart, surely flight back to civilization was possible. Would Lohner give Catrinne her pay? Even if he didn’t, she couldn’t stay a moment longer. Lord von Steuben had been looking for a portrait artist for his hounds. That seemed like a fairly easy prospect.

Packing her things did not take long at all, but the activity left her drained all the same. It seemed that she had not completely recovered from her adventure in Helmgart. Catrinne groaned and pressed her forehead to the cold stone wall. She sat like that for some time, the rise of her breast keeping time with the throb in her head. Her eyelids grew heavy, and Catrinne concentrated upon the stir of her breath as it slowed, her head wedged awkwardly against the wall.

*

_Warm breezes, sunlight, birdsong. She followed Kerillian, Bardin, Markus and Sienna through a sun-dappled glade. A decent locale, for once. Pity it would be inevitably crawling with Chaos, but there were worse places to venture. It was tough-going, or it should have been, but trudging through the hilly, rough terrain seemed to take no toll on Catrinne’s stamina. She kept up with barely any effort, her steps and mood both buoyant. The odd skaven would pop up in the distance, and Kerillian would pick it off with an almost careless ease. All things considered, a rather pleasant excursion. Markus and Bardin seemed in similar spirits, the former whistling cheerfully as he strode, the latter singing boisterously with no regard for stealth._

_They went along like this for some time until the forest thinned, the ground leveled, and marble pillars sprouted from the earth instead of trees. The ground hummed with a strange energy that Catrinne could not place. It did not feel like any of the Winds, none that she understood, anyway. Kerillian grew quiet, somber, pausing to place one of her hands upon the remnants of what would have been an impressive arch in its day._

_“Even in decay, this place reeks of arrogance. How easily forgotten are once-necessary duties,” Kerillian remarked, the bite in her tone not quite masking the sorrow underneath._

_“I wonder why such a place was abandoned,” Sienna mused. “I bet it was magnificent once.”_

_“And now it’s crawling with rats,” Markus added._

_“And you think this isn’t your future, mayfly?” Kerillian spat. “For us, this was a matter of centuries. Your great cities will crumble in the span of an eyeblink for my kind.”_

_*_

“Dinner, mayfly.”

Catrinne jolted awake and nearly slipped from her bed. “What?”

The sun had sunk to a murmur on the horizon. Kerillian leaned casually in the threshold to Catrinne’s room, silhouetted by the dimming light.

“Since the lumberfoots now know you exist, they want you downstairs to eat with them. Figured I’d hasten you downstairs before they come rumbling up here and disturbing my quiet.”

Catrinne’s brow furrowed. “Why?”

“They’re curious and bored,” Kerillian replied. “The novelty of your existence is more than their feeble minds could hope for. Is it that surprising that they want to know their new resident?”

“I suppose, but it’s pointless,” Catrinne grumbled, wanting to shrink back into the corner. “I’m leaving the first moment I get.”

“Pfft. No you’re not.” Kerillian replied.

“You come into my room and stack rocks on my head. Fine,” Catrinne replied grumpily. “But for someone to go through my things for no reason…”

“Don’t count yourself as special. One Eye does that with everyone. There’s a reason Markus has his things in a chest bound with iron chains and locks.” Kerillian seemed to roll her eyes (with her, it was difficult to tell). “Tells us it’s his vocation, but he’s really just a trifling busybody. That, and you punctured his pride.” Kerillian chuckled. “He thinks he knows everything about everyone, and you crept under his nose for weeks! By Loren, it was a beautiful thing.”

“Even so.” Catrinne stretched and tried to massage the crick from her neck. “There is no reason for me to abide it. I do not belong here, and will soon be moving on…”

“Rubbish.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re going nowhere, and you know it. You’ve had the dreams. I see them in your paintings. One Eye has too, though he is cagey about details.”

“So are you,” replied Catrinne, surprised at her cheek. It seemed that despondence sapped her awe of the elf, at least for the moment. “You mention your visions, but only in riddles.”

“And you complain that One Eye pries!” Kerillian smirked. “You act the wounded party, but you’re nearly as bad, skulking in shadows, lurking around corners.”

“I…” Catrinne sputtered. _That was different! Somehow…_

“But you’re going nowhere, mayfly,” Kerillian continued. “Like it or not, you’re entangled with this dark fate along with the rest of us, and you know it. Now go. I wish to properly appreciate the stillness outside free from mayfly claptrap, and I can hear Markus clomping upstairs as we speak.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Look what I found in that hallway!”

Markus led the hunched young woman into the dining room, where everyone else (save Kerillian and Lohner) already sat at the long table. When Sir had mentioned that Catrinne was finally conscious, Markus was eager to give her a proper welcome. Sir had been furious ever since her revelation, but, while Markus had found it mildly disturbing that she’d been eavesdropping for so long, the prospect of a fresh face in the Keep was enough for Markus to push aside any qualms. Besides, Lohner vouched for her, and that was enough for Markus.

The others had already started, and everyone looked up as one as they entered the room. Markus took a seat, immediately catching the flow of the ongoing conversation, but Catrinne lingered awkwardly in the doorway. She wrung her hands, eyes darting to the empty seats and the adjacent occupants, apparently unsure of where to settle herself. She drifted backward toward the door, damn near hyperventilating, looking as if she were about to bolt. Sir glowering at her from the corner did not help matters.

“Go on then, girl.” Lohner budged past Catrinne with a trayful of soup bowls, pushing her further into the room and impeding her exit.

Catrinne stumbled onto the bench next to Markus, apologizing the whole way. Her hood slipped down, revealing a haphazardly pinned back mass of dark blonde waves; a wan, still-sickly pale face; a wide pair of eyes that seemed to miss nothing. Those eyes were an unusual shade of blue, dark, a touch of green; they would have been rather lovely were it not for the purple shadows encircling them. Not exactly Markus’ type, truth be told, but Sienna wasn’t wrong. Even recovering from illness, she _was_ pretty. Not quite as toothsome as those barmaids at The Orc and Feather, but at least she probably wasn’t about to sacrifice anyone to a dark god after a bit of fun, and it wasn’t as if Markus were spoiled for choice isolated up there at Axe Bite Pass.

“I…um…thanks.” Her voice barely audible, Catrinne nodded bashfully, slipped the hood back over her shaggy head, and began vigorously chewing her fingernails.

Pretty, but odd. Definitely odd. The others peered at her curiously, which made her attack her nails even more savagely. Markus winced.

“You should wait for the main course!” Sienna chided. “Can’t guarantee it’ll taste better, but it’ll certainly be less damaging.” Sienna paused. “Hmm…actually, can’t promise that either.”

“Hey!” Markus objected. “I made this meal, I’ll have you know, and used the best cuts of mutton we had.” He grinned. “Wanted to show our newcomer some hospitality.”

In response, Catrinne muttered a nervous thanks, withdrew further into her hood, and continued gnawing.

“Disgusting habit,” The Captain spat. “Borderline cannibalism. It makes me wonder if there is a natural inclination toward heresy.”

That stopped Catrinne. She exhaled heavily and flattened her palms upon the rough table.

“Having a nervous habit is not heresy.” For the first time, Catrinne’s voice was audible and clear. She sat up straighter in her seat, jutting her chin out from under her hood.

“No reason to be nervous,” Markus assured her as the Captain made a dismissive grunt. “I promise, we won’t bite.”

“If we don’t get our dinner soon, I just might,” Bardin grumbled. “Come on, Lohner!”

“Right, right…” Lohner passed around the stew, and everyone set to eating.

“This is delicious, Mar-“ Catrinne stammered quietly. “Sorry, I mean, Sir.”

Markus beamed. “Call me Markus, please! No need for formalities, especially since you’re here for the long haul. I…”

“Already it begins,” Saltzpyre barked. “The spy launches her campaign of seduction against my impressionable bodyguard. Soon…”

Markus started to protest, but Catrinne herself interrupted. She sat even straighter in her chair and glared at the Captain, her hood falling back once again.

“Actually, Master Lohner, this was something I meant to address in private, but I think now is as good a time as any,” she said, her voice strong and steady, palms flat against the table again. She addressed the innkeeper but her eyes never left the Captain. “I will be leaving this place as soon as I am physically able. My contract states that I would not be directly involved with your missions, and that clause has been broken. I politely request what is left of my wages, and I will be on my way.”

“What? Oh, bloody hell,” Lohner sputtered. “Catrinne, I swear, it won’t happen again. Olesya, promise her that it won’t happen again!”

Olesya glowered at Catrinne. “Is awful waste, girl. But…”

“That isn’t the reason,” Catrinne continued, glare still fixed upon the Captain. “Danger I can tolerate, but I will not abide my privacy invaded. Henceforth I will include the clause that my belongings and space go undisturbed in future contracts. At any rate…” Catrinne rose from her chair. “I am finished here, and anyone concerned about imaginary espionage can soon rest easy. I wish all of you the best.” She made for the door, then paused. “Dinner was excellent, Markus, thank you.”

The table sat in stunned silence as she took her leave, save Lohner.  “Catrinne, wait! Agh!”

He wheeled on the Captain, growling in frustration. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied, Saltzpyre. Do you know how much extra funding we’ve received thanks to her paintings? Where do you think that mutton is coming from? Your bullets? We were barely scraping by, and this month we could actually afford a keg of Bugman’s!”

“What? There’s Bugman’s?” Bardin chucked a chunk of bread at Saltzpyre’s head, which glanced off of the brim of the Captain’s hat.

“Sir, was that really necessary?” Markus groaned.

“I believe it was,” the Captain replied loftily. “Her behavior was abnormal, and required further investigation. At least one of us needed to act to preserve the safety of our fine company and I apologize for nothing.”

Everyone grumbled at this, and Markus fumed. A miracle like an attractive bird landing in their lonely Keep, and of-bloody-course Sir had to send her flying. Markus reminded himself again that Saltzpyre was nowhere near the worst superior he’d served under, but it was cold comfort at the moment. He bit his tongue to keep from cursing.

Huffing, Lohner rose to his feet. “Well, I’m going to try to fix this mess. And, yes, we have Bugman’s, but now we’re saving it for a special occasion, as I don’t know when I can get more. You can thank bloody Saltzpyre for that.”

 

*

 

Catrinne’s stomach grumbled as she reached her chamber again. She wished that she’d been able to partake of more of her dinner (it really had been good), but her temper had gotten the better of her. It was strange how moments before she had been petrified of everyone there, and in the matter of seconds she was snapping at the most imposing man at the table. What was wrong with her?

It was for the best anyway. Kerillian could say what she liked, but Catrinne was leaving, and leaving soon. The climb to her chamber left her winded, but her strength was returning. It wouldn’t be long.

After lighting her lamps, Catrinne noticed a bit of leftover bread on her desk. Rock-hard and tasteless, but it would have to do. Catrinne gnawed on the crust, pondering her current situation. Best to go back to her old habits, she decided. Avoid the others as much as possible. No point in growing familiar.

“You are dead-set on leaving us?”

Lohner peeked into Catrinne’s chamber, and she cursed herself for leaving the door ajar.

“I am.”

“Dangerous journey, even in normal circumstances,” Lohner continued.

Catrinne shrugged. “I made it through Helmgart.”

Lohner made his way over to her desk, and Catrinne noticed that he carried a clinking sack. “Fair enough. However, I have a proposition.”

“Yes?”

“I can promise you that your privacy will be guaranteed, and that you will no longer be asked to use your magic,” Lohner replied. “In return, not only will I give you an extra five gold per finished work, but…” He began removing several large jars from his sack and placing them upon her desk. “I will also be able to provide a regular supply of these. Just got them in this morning.”

Catrinne leaned forward, reaching for the nearest jar, reverently raising it to the lamplight. _Lapis_. She sighed softly to herself. She examined another, and another. _Hematite_. _Indigo. Carmine. Malachite_. Even in this dim illumination, she could tell that it was a small fortune in pigment, in brilliance and quantity that Catrinne never would have been able to afford, never even seen. She’d not even encountered such quality in Altdorf, where she purchased most of her supplies.

“How…” she murmured, gazing in wonder at the vibrant colors. “Where…”

“I have my sources,” Lohner replied with a sly grin. “But since you’re leaving…”

He began gathering the jars and placing them back into his sack. The firelight glinted off of the blue of the lapis and Catrinne’s breath caught.

“Fine,” she huffed, defeated.

“Oh?” Lohner feigned confusion.

“ _Fine_. I’ll stay. _For now_ ,” Catrinne grumbled. “But no more magic, and no one is allowed in my chamber without my invitation.”

“Glad to hear it,” Lohner turned to leave, sack upon his shoulder.

“Wait,” Catrinne added desperately.

"Yes?"

“Leave the pigments.”


	10. Chapter 10

She mixed the paints all morning, marveling at the texture, the color, the sheer quality of the pigments. Only masters had access to such materials, the ones whose patrons would spare no expense for perfection (or the appearance of it). Catrinne had known that Lohner had resources beyond the usual barkeep, but she hadn’t expected something like this. The lapis alone was worth staying for. The day invited vibrant color, the sun streaming in through her windows and inviting her outside. She set up her easel outside, the mountain breeze merciful and mild today, sunlight warm upon her face. Catrinne properly admired her surroundings, the urge to hide in her room now gone, freely strolling the balcony in daylight for the first time. The view was magnificent, the gloomily majestic Grey Mountains cradling the vast verdant valley, the green steaked with rivers gleaming silver in the sun. It was easy to imagine that all was right with the world here, at least at that moment.

Catrinne painted all afternoon, the playful wind toying gently with her cloak, her hair. She didn’t depict her visions, her nightmares; instead just painting her surroundings. At one point she felt the weight of a gaze upon her, and she turned to find Kerillian perched on the roof of her chamber, scrutinizing the picture. The elf said nothing, and Catrinne returned to her work, unconcerned with the surprise audience. After a couple of hours Catrinne paused for a break, then jumped when the elf suddenly appeared over her shoulder for a closer look at the painting.

“Adequate enough, I suppose,” Kerillian remarked, then silently strode away to leap from the balcony to the floor below.

Catrinne smiled to herself. She hadn’t been expecting such high praise. The comment lightened her steps down to the dining room, where the others sat chatting (or squabbling, depending on one’s view). It was getting easier to join them, in presence if not in conversation. The Captain was not outright glowering at her this time, and Catrinne assumed that Lohner had somehow worked his diplomatic magic. He certainly wasn’t friendly, but he wasn’t overtly hostile, and that was enough for her. She enjoyed a quick lunch, stayed for as long as was polite, and scampered back to her perch, where she added a few finishing touches to her painting then started another. This new one recalled her dream of the Elven ruins, a little less idyllic but still not nearly as grim as her usual subjects. All in all, it was the finest day Catrinne had passed in recent memory. When she retired that night, it was with a satisfied smile playing upon her lips.

 

*

 

_The distant sounds of fireworks and jollity echoed faintly in the cave. Catrinne struggled to find her bearings, her eyes adjusting to the dim illumination. A heavily robed man scrabbled upon the ground before her, digging in the dust like a mole._

_“Sir?” Catrinne warily approached him, still unsure of where she was, why she was there, and how she’d arrived at this place. Perhaps he could help her. “Are you all right? Can I help you?”_

_The man ignored her, scooping the loose soil over whatever it was he’d hidden there. He rose, and Catrinne could get a better look at him. His robes of office declared him a priest of Sigmar, and, while he seemed to be advanced in years, he still carried an air of fortitude. Catrinne followed as he left the cave, the mouth of which opened onto a balcony overlooking an urban neighborhood. Wait…Catrinne knew this place. She’d had a commission here, a Baron’s pleasure boat (with his mistress idling subtly in the background). She’d bought her pigments near this balcony, never knowing there was a cave above. This was Bogenhafen._

_“Oh, Sigmar preserve us. Sigmar preserve us all..” The priest muttered to himself as he peered over the neighborhood, quiet in the shadow of the nearby revels. He glanced furtively over his shoulder, then began to move along the creaking floorboards, wincing at every step._

_“Well, well…” A thick voice suddenly rose from close behind them. “We thought we would be clever, didn’t we?”_

_A stench accompanied the voice, one so heavy that Catrinne thought it could be cut with a blade. This was, regrettably, also familiar. From nowhere the grotesque Rotblood mage Catrinne had seen Olesya battle loomed before them, a sickening smile baring mossy, ragged teeth._

_“No…” The priest gasped, clutching the silver hammer hanging from his neck. “Sigmar damn you to hell! You will never infiltrate us!”_

_The bloated thing let out a wet, mucky chuckle. “Oh, Kraussman. We already have. As we speak, my children spread our pestilent blessings throughout your farce of a temple. The Blightreaper will be ours, if it is not already.”_

_The priest stiffened. “Is that so? Then…” He turned, but found his way blocked by a brace of drooling Rotbloods, each bearing rusted hand-axes._

_Kraussman cast his eyes about for something, anything to defend himself with. Catrinne vainly tried to cast, or at least distract, but nothing rose and no one, priest or Rotblood, seemed aware of her presence. The monsters closed in, and they retreated into the cave. Catrinne watched helplessly as the sorcerer spat a few noxious words and weeping vines burst through the sandstone walls, wrapping around him, sinking into his flesh with a sickening hiss. Kraussman howled a garbled prayer; his skin sinking, stretching, splitting._

_“We will be avenged, I swear it,” Kraussman seethed, finally. “You bastards will meet justice…”_

 

*

 

Catrinne’s eyes snapped open. _Bloody hell_. She sat up, rubbing her face and forcing herself to steady her breath. It could have just been a random dream, but thus far this seemed to have not been the case. She would inform Lohner and leave it to his discretion whether to take it seriously. At least then it was out of her hands.

“Why can’t I ever have pleasant dreams?” She mumbled to herself, pulling on her overdress.

She began to head down to the great hall when she heard the group conversing excitedly.

“Obviously this is of great import! Father Kraussman would not contact us if it were not of sufficient consequence,” the Captain declared.

“Haven’t been to Bogenhafen in some time,” Markus mused. “Wonder if that pub with the redheaded barmaids is still there…”

“Mind to the task, Kruber!” Saltzpyre barked. “If Kraussman fears Rotblood attention, then his concerns merit our fullest attention.” As Catrinne approached, she saw, for the first time since she’d come to the keep, a genuine smile warming Saltzpyre’s craggy face. “It will be good to team up with him once more. Many a hellspawn have we sent to its doom, by Sigmar!”

Catrinne’s heart sank. She silently prayed that her dream had been just that, but the usual depressing certainty sat in her gut like a cold, wet lump. _Sigmar,_ she hated how she’d grown used to that feeling.

“It will be nice to actually see other human beings!” Sienna sighed. “When can we leave?”

“Right after the debriefing,” Lohner replied as Olesya hobbled over to Catrinne.

“You look as if you have something to tell me,” Olesya said quietly. “Come. You say in private.”

“We shall return with tales of triumph and justice, a proper subject for our house artist!” Saltzpyre crowed. “The girl can finally prove her worth.”

Catrinne forced a placid smile and followed Olesya outside.

 

*

 

The next two weeks passed uneventfully. Catrinne moved through the fortress freely, unfettered by worries of awkward encounters or hostile scrutiny. She examined every corner and cranny of the Keep, finding the spots with the best light, even risking a careful moonlight bath in the stream when she was sure Lohner and Olesya had retired for the night. Despite this freedom of movement, Catrinne found that the Keep felt eerily empty without the Ubersreik Five. Knowing the tragedy that had awaited them, though, filled her with a distant sense of dread. She hadn’t had the heart or the courage to warn any of them of her vision. It wasn’t as if they would have believed her, and Saltzpyre’s inquiries would only worsen from such talk. Still, Catrinne fretted as the Five had departed the Keep in buoyant spirit, riding into certain tragedy with broad smiles upon their faces.

When the gate opened after those two weeks, Catrinne held her breath, hiding at the top of the stairs with her cheek pressed to the cool stone wall. As expected, the mood was grim when they entered bearing a large, heavily chained chest.

“You got it! I get to work,” Olesya greeted them, her wooden leg clacking upon the stone flags. “Take to my chamber.”

“Bogenhafen is saved, just.”

Catrinne had expected the Captain to return full of righteous rage and vitriol, vowing to rain vengeance upon those who had slain his friend. Instead, he was sober, subdued. It was worse, somehow, as if he had been drained of purpose. Catrinne had to creep closer and strain to hear him. They spoke of the clandestine attack upon Bogenhafen, the foiled plot, the recovery of a cursed sword, and the grisly discovery of the felled priest.

“Doesn’t pay to be your friend, does it, Grimgi?” Bardin prodded.

Catrinne sucked in her breath.

“Indeed,” Saltzpyre replied wearily. “Those of us who follow this path often meet such an end, and yet we willingly walk it nonetheless.”

There was no rancor, no sarcasm, no anger. If Bardin had been trying to get a rise out of the Captain by his cruel barb, he had failed. Lohner arrived to collect their report, and Saltzpyre delivered it in an even, dispassionate manner, allowing others to take over at times. As soon as the basic report was delivered, Saltzpyre excused himself and exited.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Bardin?” Sienna hissed after the Captain left.

“Thought I could get up his dander,” Bardin replied. “Bit eerie with him being so quiet.”

“Takes some time to get through such a shock, even when you are in this sort of business,” Markus remarked sagely.

Markus opened his mouth to speak again, then a weary grimace crossed his rugged face.

“Let him be,” Markus said finally. “I’m sure this isn’t the first time he’s lost friends, and Sigmar knows it won’t be the last. I think a drink is in order. A bite too, I s’pose. Anyone who cares to join me is welcome.”

 

*

 

The Captain did not join them for the meal (though Kerillian, in an uncommon appearance, did). The conversation was muted, though after Lohner produced a cask of Bugman’s the mood livened significantly. Catrinne, despite Markus’ repeated invitations, did not partake. She’d always feared the effects of spirits, having hidden from subjects after they had indulged in celebratory imbibing. She drifted away from them after a time, wandering along the ramparts, taking in the rather magnificent sunset coloring the mountain. A strong, chill wind whipped through her skirts and loosened her hair, but the beauty of the horizon distracted her from the cold. She climbed to the pinnacle of the Keep, to the crow nests and vegetable stores. As soon as she reached the top, she froze. The Captain stood unmoving at the edge of the ruined rampart, his gaunt form silhouetted by the light of the dying day. Catrinne began to retreat, but the crack of her cloak and skirts flapping around her legs gave away her presence. He turned, and Catrinne wrung her hands in distress.

“S-sir…” She managed, unsure if the whistle of the wind carried her words along. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry about your friend.”

There was no snide response, no rebuke. Saltzpyre regarded her for some time, to the point that Catrinne opened her mouth to excuse herself. Before she could, though, he spoke.

“I had chided Johann for leaving the Order.” He stepped forward. “He had some misguided notion about ‘raising people up,’ as he would say, and I told him I feared he would turn soft. We are hard for a reason, you see.” Catrinne began to realize that he wasn’t particularly speaking to her, just that he needed to speak the words aloud. “Though I admit that part of me was relieved. I had hoped that going into the priesthood would distance him from the perils of our work. He was getting on in years, you see, and it is a rare Witch Hunter who lives to retire, even rarer for one to die of natural causes.” Saltzpyre exhaled heavily. “I’d hoped…”

From her vision, Catrinne remembered the grisly state in which the Rotbloods had left the good Father. Indeed, it was now stamped in her memory, rising at odd moments to steal her breath. She could only imagine how the sight would affect someone who had cared about the man. Saltzpyre’s eyes (both real and false) seemed sunken, ringed with purple shadows. His skin was paler than usual as well, and he had the air of one for whom sleep was now a distant acquaintance. For the first time, he looked old.  Not that he had ever looked young, but Saltzpyre had always hummed with a vigor and a zeal that belied his years. Weathered? Sure. Severe, certainly. But never _old_.

“He was a good man,” Saltzpyre continued. “Even as a Templar, he always tempered his judgments, always cautioned against jumping to conclusions, even when it would have been the easier choice. A rare sort indeed. He deserved…he deserved better than this. I pray that he walks with Sigmar.”

“I’m sorry,” Catrinne repeated, finding no other words adequate enough for response.

Saltzpyre nodded and turned back to the horizon. Catrinne made her way back to her chamber, her head buzzing. She didn’t particularly like Saltzpyre, but the sight of him broken and grieving was unsettling. She closed her eyes, and the mangled remains of Father Kraussman rose behind her eyes once more. Pity that this would be the last memory the Captain would have of his noble friend. _Wait_ …

Catrinne lit her lamps, set up her easel and canvas, and arranged her paints. An idea arose, sharpened. And she sketched, alight with purpose. She painted until the wee hours, the image of a priest silhouetted by a shining temple and rosy dawn taking shape upon the surface. She added just enough detail to echo the man in her vision but obscured the figure enough to avoid suspicion. She hoped. As the first rays of dawn crept over the horizon, Catrinne stepped back to regard her work. _Was it an appropriate tribute?_ She gingerly lifted the painting and made her way to the dungeons. _Only time will tell_. She propped the painting outside of Saltzpyre’s chambers and scurried back to her room, where the sleepless night caught up with her. She collapsed upon the bed and enjoyed a deep, dreamless slumber.


	11. Chapter 11

There was always a careful balance between rest and action. Rest too long and the enemy gains ground. Rest too little and you compromise not only yourself, but the team as well. Thus, while Markus appreciated the week’s reprieve after their return from Bogenhafen, the downtime made him a bit nervy. He could tell that the others were of a similar bent. Bardin often joined him in the training yard, whacking away at the dummies with increasing gusto, Kerillian picking off bottles in strange and isolated spots around the Keep (and sometimes annoyingly close to the other residents), and Sienna starting bonfires in places that “needed brightening up.” At the moment, she’d made one atop the Keep near the crows’ nests, where Catrinne sat painting. Catrinne would pause, toss some sort of powder upon the fire, which would cause them to flare different colors. Markus could hear Sienna crowing with joy at the sight of it as he approached.

“And which one was that?” Sienna asked as the flames sparked blue.

“Copper,” Catrinne explained. “I have some alum, but it turns green and is too similar to warpfire for my tastes. I think that’s it for now, though.”

“Well, that was fun!” Sienna replied. “My superiors always frowned upon such tricks, but I don’t see the harm! Bunch of dried-up old prunes.” She peered at Catrinne’s painting. “You have an odd style, I must say. Not bad, I rather like it. But odd.”

Catrinne smiled, continuing to paint. “I have to work quickly. I save the more traditional style for the portraits, but Master Lohner needs to get these out to the capital as quickly as possible.”

“But this isn’t one of those.”

“No, this is just a study,” Catrinne replied. “I have trouble capturing fire. Need to practice it a bit more.”

“Well, if you ever have need of flame, just ask,” Sienna grinned, lounging upon the rampart beside her.

Sienna glanced up to see Markus. “And here’s our intrepid soldier! Was wondering when you were going to come sniffing.” She winked. “Our Markus has developed an appreciation for fine art over the past few weeks.”

“I, uh…” Markus glared at Sienna. _Did she have to be so bloody obvious?_ “Just curious! I saw crazy-colored fires and wanted to, y’know, investigate.”

“I was throwing old pigment onto the flames,” Catrinne explained. “A bit wasteful, I suppose, but pretty.”

The bonfire was rather striking against the twilit sky, the firelight casting dramatic shadows upon Catrinne’s determined face. She would raise her eyes back and forth from the horizon to the canvas, the breeze catching her hair as she knit her eyebrows to concentrate on a troublesome patch.

“You paint battles, right? How many missions have you documented?” Sienna asked, peeking over Catrinne’s shoulder.

“Oh…” Catrinne paused to chew the end of her paintbrush. “I’ve lost count. Too many, I suppose.”

“I imagine you would get a bit of attention from the soldiers,” Sienna nudged.

“I hid most of the time,” Catrinne admitted. “And once the camp followers showed up, it wasn’t much of an issue. I was always relieved when they did. They made great models in their downtime!”

“I can imagine!” Markus blurted, and Sienna let out a barking laugh.

“But you never found a sweetie?” Sienna prodded further.

Catrinne grew quiet. “Yes…no…almost. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Markus asked.

“He…um…” A faint smile crossed Catrinne’s lips. “He liked to watch me paint. Used to sneak up when I wasn’t paying attention and look over my shoulder.”

“And then?” Sienna asked.

“He told me we were going to run away together after the Battle of Schoenfeld,” she replied softly.

Markus swallowed heavily. _Bloody hell, she’d been at Schoenfeld?_ “What regiment?”

“Seventh.” Catrinne blinked, more pointedly scrutinizing her painting and blinking furiously.

That was Hedburg’s regiment, if memory served. A good man, followed by good men. They’d been sent up to Schoenfeld in the Eighth’s stead to defend the city from a Norscan menace. Was supposed to be a surprise attack on the Khornite’s camp to drive them off for good and ended up being a trap laid weeks in advance. Were it not for a company of Kislevite ice wizards coming to their aid, the city would have been lost. Markus remembered his relief that his regiment had been overlooked for that deployment (prematurely, considering  their own doom had not been more than half a year later).

“I don’t know if he was serious,” Catrinne murmured. “And I never will. Lots of soldiers promised girls things after the battles, and I’d seen enough get left stranded. But I like to think he’d been telling the truth.”

“I’m sure he was, darling,” Sienna replied gently.

The mood now subdued, Markus decided to take his leave as Sienna and Catrinne continued chatting. He found Sir haranguing Lohner in the hall, Catrinne’s latest painting brightening the atrium. Sir hadn’t commented upon the painting when he’d found it leaning near his chamber door, just hung it up in the most prominent spot in the Keep. Sir’s mood seemed to have been livened ever since, though, which was a relief. It had been unnerving to see him so subdued and morose. Markus wasn’t fond of Sir’s rants or preaching, but he far preferred them to the quiet sadness that had settled over the usually cantankerous old crank.  

“…with every hour. We must strike soon while they are demoralized, or we will be too late!”

“We’re trying, Saltzpyre, but everything’s gone quiet since you brought back the Blightreaper. I know you’re not this reckless. We need more information before I send you in.” Lohner sounded as if this were not the first time he’d had to make this argument.

“Then let me scout ahead! I am capable of spiriting myself away from peril, just…”

“Saltzpyre…” Lohner rubbed his eyes wearily. “Soon. Olesya is working on it. I realize it is not easy for you lot to cool your heels, but you just need to be patient just a little longer.”

Sir harrumphed and stalked off toward his chamber, pausing and brightening as he noticed Markus descending the stairs. “Kruber! I fear we are growing rusty. Come test my reflexes in the training yard.”

Markus sighed. His arms ached from sparring with Bardin earlier, but refusing was not an option. “Of course, Sir.”

  
*

 

The streets were eerily empty even in the harsh noonday sun. In times of peace, the day would have been beautiful, but the bright sky only served to throw every scar and ruin inflicted upon Helmgart into sharp relief. Olesya stumped across the cobblestones, her eye scanning every nook and crevice of the wreckage for some hint of activity. It was impossible that the filth had cleared out completely.

Wiping her brow, she paused to lean upon a chunk of masonry to catch her breath. Olesya had never gotten the hang of Southern summers. Snow, ice…these were nothing to her, but this heat? Damned near ran her into the ground. Pity the girl wasn’t here to help. Olesya spat on the ground. _Not her job, feh_!

Olesya Pimenova was eighty-three years old as of three weeks previous, not that she would have any of the others know of it. She persisted in perilous pursuit, somehow thriving in a time when a man reaching half her age was a significant achievement. She did, however, feel every minute of those eighty-three years aching in her bones. Not that it stopped her for long, but the pauses were becoming increasingly frustrating. Olesya knew that, even with her estimable skills, she was on borrowed time.

And then the girl arrives on their doorstep, like a shabbily-wrapped present from Ancient Widow herself. Not only a Grey Wizard, but gifted with the Sight as well. The latter had been apparent from the first, the girl’s paintings uncannily echoing battles she’d never personally seen. And the dreams…Olesya could always tell when the girl’d had one. It was generally whenever Olesya herself had had one. Catrinne would womble dazedly down the stairs, more wan than usual, her eyes ringed with heavy purple shadows. With a little deft questioning Olesya had found that they often shared the same visions but varied slightly in location or timing. The extra details had helped greatly with planning the missions, often saving hours, if not days, of work. That Catrinne was also a grey wizard was almost as equally advantageous. Rusty and ill-trained, but promising. All the girl needed was practice and guidance, and they would have gained a valuable member of the team. Olesya could…well, perhaps not _retire_ , but slow down a bit. Let someone else do the heavy lifting. Instead, it seemed like a cruel joke. No more missions, no more magic. The girl squanders her skills, burying herself in paint and canvas. Lohner was too soft. Olesya knew that Catrinne reminded him of a long-lost baby sister, but he treated her like a child when she’d already seen twenty-seven winters! Girls a decade younger were usually wedded by then and starting families. Olesya herself had already commanded a regiment at that point and lost a leg in battle. Silly chit knew exactly what the world faced, saw it just as plain as Olesya did, and decides to hide in her room and scribble. Olesya spat again. _Not part of her contract_. Cowardly and pathetic, it was.

Brightbeak, one of Olesya’s spies, lit upon the stone next to her and let out a throaty caw.

“Right, right, I’ve rested enough.” Olesya stiffly pushed herself away from her seat, stretching and stifling a groan as she rubbed her back. “What is it, you silly squab?”

The crow hopped up and down excitedly upon the stone. Olesya chuckled to herself.

“I’ve been oblivious, haven’t I?” Olesya smiled, finally seeing the chunk of stone for what it was.

A wing. A dove’s wing, to be precise. She stood before the Temple of Shallya, several of her birds flocking to the entrance. Of course, the bastards would take special interest in this place. Brightbeak cawed happily, joining his brethren.

“Finally,” Olesya said. “Time to get to work.”


End file.
